Page 66 of One Bride for Three Single Dads

I barely even notice Harrison’s sour grapes expression.

Chapter 27

AMBROSE

About thirty seconds after we walk in the door, I realize this is our first “date.”

Ten seconds later, I realize it is also our one-week anniversary.

And Harrison isn’t here.

The public house has one of those big, oversized, wide doors that seems to have been carved from a single tree about three thousand years ago. I don’t know if that is just for tourists, but it is very effective.

Jolene gasps quietly as she walks in, her fingers fluttering up to cover her mouth as she gazes at the interior, delighted.

Boone and I just stand back, watching her watch everything. Here we are. In public together.

Well, three-quarters of us anyway.

The interior is crowded with knickknacks, posters, memorabilia. Older men in sweaters and caps lean hunchbacked over the bar. They twist their heads to stare over their shoulders at us as we stand in the vestibule, looking quite lost.

Also, I think it is about five in the afternoon here. A little bit early for drinking. What time is it at home? Who knows.

“Man, Harrison’s gonna be pissed that he missed this!” Boone chuckles as he walks up to the bar and leans against it, smacking his lips at the long row of tap handles.

“What can I get ya?” asks the bartender, flipping his white towel over his shoulder as he approaches.

Boone stares at me, amazed, obviously impressed by how closely this guy looks like a man acting out a part: Irish bartender.

“Three pints, please,” I ask politely.

He raises his eyebrows at me so I randomly pick a tapper and point to it.

As he begins to draw the beers, the dark brown liquid foaming against the side of the glass, Jolene steps forward, angling her bottom onto a barstool.

“No ladies at the bar, lass,” the bartender scolds her.

Her eyes go wide with surprise. “Pardon me?”

He gestures with his chin. “House rules. Tables are over there.”

I can see her clench her jaw even though I am standing behind her. She turns on her heel and walks between me and Boone, striding toward a small table against the wall.

Boone pulls a face. He takes the three beers in his fingers and walks toward Jolene while I pay the tab.

“We are just visiting,” I explain as I place the company card on the gleaming, dark bar.

“Ach, we reckoned ya for the Spanish house, proper,” the barman smiles.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re the construction crew,” he continues, speaking more slowly because apparently I sound like an idiot who doesn’t understand words. “Isn’t that right? You’ve come to finish up the project?”

“Oh, yes,” I agree, admittedly relieved that we seem to understand each other. “Actually, I was hoping there would be some local tradesmen. We could use a few extra hands.”

He raises his eyebrows. I sense that imperious local glint in his expression. He’s happy to see us fail. He would probably be delighted if we ran away today.

“In a bit over your heads?” he asks, coming uncomfortably close to the mark.

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